


The Equestrian

by LozaMoza



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Geralt is humiliated, Happy Ending, Novigrad (The Witcher), Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Spoilers, The Witcher Lore, Toussaint (The Witcher), being cheap doesnt pay, dont trust starving artists, sorry kids no Geraskier here, we stan the friendship only
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23077300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LozaMoza/pseuds/LozaMoza
Summary: “So, just to be perfectly clear….there is currently, in the downstairs parlor of the Passiflora, a large painting of you in the nude, on horseback, rearing over the body of a slain griffin? And now the brothel’s patrons touch this painting for luck before they head upstairs to collect on their coin?” Her violet eyes were twinkling. Geralt prayed this was a good sign.In the DLC Blood and Wine, there's a fantastic quest called A Portrait of the Witcher as an Old Man. In it, Geralt poses for an artist. Things do not go completely according to plan. As a player, you have an option to buy the painting that results from this quest. This is the story of what happens when Geralt was too cheap to pony up the crowns.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Zoltan Chivay & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	1. Old Friends

**Author's Note:**

> There's going to be some massive spoilers not only for the games, but from the books. Important characters from both, and some of their fates, are mentioned. Also, I stick to canon as much as possible. It's my preferred method, so relationships that are canonically true are true in here. That means Geralt and Yennefer are the be all end all, and I love them. Finally, the Netflix show is not referenced here. Nothing that happened in that show is considered true for the piece. It doesn't even matter, but I want to make that abundantly clear. ;)
> 
> Jaskier is referred to by his English language book and game nome de plume Dandelion (for those who don't know). As this work references the books and games and not the show, I only thought it appropriate.
> 
> Oh and obviously, I don't own any of the Witcher characters. 
> 
> Most importantly, I hope you enjoy!

“So, just to be perfectly clear….there is currently, in the downstairs parlor of the Passiflora, a large painting of you in the nude, on horseback, rearing over the body of a slain griffin? And now the brothel’s patrons touch this painting for luck before they head upstairs to collect on their coin?” Her violet eyes were twinkling. Geralt prayed this was a good sign. When she was angry, they turned to a cold fire, a color he had unfortunately witnessed too many times in their 25-year history together. He had not seen that blaze in a long time. He hoped he wouldn’t see it again.

“Well, umm…,” Geralt stammered. His trip to Novigrad to visit with Dandelion and Zoltan had led to this unpleasant discovery. He’d fretted the entire way back to Corvo Bianco, certain that Yennefer would leave once he told her about the piece. Things had been going well, too well he feared, since she moved in 6 months prior. He’d been waiting for the bottom to inevitably drop, like it always did, and end their domestic bliss. The closer he got to home, the more certain he was this was it. 

But he, it turns out, was wrong. So very wrong. “Oh Witcher, the trouble you get into when I’m away,” Yennefer smirked slightly as she sat the glass of Est Est she’d been nursing on the side table and stood from her sette. She wrapped her bare arms around Geralt’s neck (the warm Toussaint climate really did have its advantages), her cool skin sending pleasurable shivers throughout his thoroughly-humiliated and relieved self. She pressed her forehead to his and placed a soft kiss on his lips that sent heat throughout his body, settling in his groin. His trousers became uncomfortable. “I expect to hear the entire story soon, but as for right now…” she kissed him again, hungrier, falling back to the sofa as she pulled him on top of her.

* * *

Their passion stated for the moment, Yennefer traced the outline of his scars. It was a favorite pastime of hers, and she loved hearing him tell her the story behind each mark; all except the three dark circles in the middle of his chest. Those were the scars that took him from her, and even though Rivia and the pogrom were a distant memory, the pain was still too fresh for Yennefer. Geralt suspected it always would be. He held her closer.

“So, care to explain how a naked portrait of you ended up in the most expensive bordello in Novigrad? I’m sure it’s quite a tale, and you know I love a good story.” Her hair fell in soft curls, the sunset scattering oranges and pinks through its inky black as she leaned up on her elbow.  _ “Gods she’s beautiful, _ ” he thought to himself. 

“It’s nothing like you think, Yen.”

“As I don’t know what to think, please, enlighten me, darling.” The smirk returned. He had to fight the urge to pull her on top of him….again. 

“Fine,” he huffed. “Well, you already know some of it. It started when I went to visit Dandelion and Zoltan at the Chameleon. 

* * *

**Three Weeks Early** **  
**

“Geralt, ya old bastard! What the fuck are you doing in Novigrad?” Zoltan grabbed Geralt’s hand and clapped him on the back. The Chameleon had definitely changed since he’d last seen it about 18 months prior. Dandelion obviously invested serious coin into the establishment and along with Priscilla and Zoltan’s help, the inn was flourishing. Geralt wondered if Priscilla was singing again. “We haven’t seen you in ages. Figured you’d be getting fat and slow down south drinking that grape juice they grow there.”

Geralt smiled. He’d missed his old hansa, the few who remained to him, though it was another lifetime ago. He still couldn’t imagine a retirement for him that somehow ended where he was now, living peacefully with Yennefer on a vineyard in Toussaint and Ciri the Empress of Nilfgaard. Witchers were supposed to die alone on the Path, beaten down by some monster, fodder for ghouls. _ “What an unexpected present fate has dealt me,” _ he mused to himself. 

“Why are you getting that far off, dreamy look on that ugly mug of yours? Missing your sorceress already? I swear, spend too long in that fairy-tale shithole of yours and you end up a bloody romantic. Mahakman, that land breeds true men. Let’s get tossed and get properly fucked. That’ll bring the witcher out of you.”

“Look Zoltan, I appreciate the offer, and I’ll gladly drink with you. But as to the second suggestion, not for me anymore. Yennefer and I…” Zoltan cut him off before he could continue.

“Bloody PATHETIC romantic. There’s no hope for you anymore, Geralt. Too bad too because the Passiflora has this fine new elf wench, and of course there’s your lucky painting...” 

“GERALT!!!”

Geralt would recognize that voice anywhere. “Hello, Dandelion,” he smiled as he spoke. Living with Yennefer among the vines was the most content he had ever been, but he didn’t realize how much he missed his friends. “It’s been too long. How are you? Ready to sneak into Toussaint to come visit us yet?” 

Dandelion winced as he went in for a hug. “I highly doubt Little Weasel has forgiven me quite yet. She’s the type of woman with a long memory. Such a minor indiscretion made into such an ordeal….” 

“You did have an affair with another woman while professing undying love to the Duchess of Toussaint.” 

“And she sentenced me to death, revoked it last minute, and banished me from the Duchy in perpetuity for something as small as midnight dalliance. I always did care for Little Weasel (his nickname for the Duchess Anna Henrietta still seemed strange to Geralt), but truly, she never understood me.” Dandelion shook his head.

“You mean your need to romance and screw as many females as possible?” Geralt laughed. 

“Pfff, you’re one to talk, Geralt. How many sorceresses have you bedded at last count?” Dandelion smirked.

That stung. It was true, Geralt was loathe to admit. “Enough to know I’m done with that life.”

“Well, what a coincidence as I am too. Priscilla and I are doing excellent, thank you for asking by the way. As you can see, The Chameleon is the shining beacon of culture and theatrical eloquence in Novigrad.” Dandelion continued as Zoltan rolled his eyes.

“Well, the coin, I won’t lie to ya, Geralt. The coin is a beautiful thing.” Zoltan mused. 

“And I am happy for you both, truly,” Geralt replied as he looked over the interior. Rich wood paneling covered the walls, with bright upholstery lining plush seats. The stage had been built up since he last was there and currently there was a woman lightly strumming a lute on it. It was a far cry from the Rosemary and Thyme, the original name of the establishment when it was the seedy whorehouse that Dandelion inherited. “Tell me, Dandelion, how is Priscilla’s voice?”

At that, a smile lightened Dandelion’s face. The acid that had been forced down her throat by that vile serial killer had caused her severe damage. The last Geralt heard, it was unknown if her vocal cords would ever recover. “Geralt, she is healing. She is healing so beautifully. Tell Yennefer thank you for that tonic; I think she may make a full recovery, praise Melitele.” 

Geralt hadn’t even known Yennefer sent her a healing tonic. Suddenly he had a powerful desire to hold her and run his hands through her hair. “Of course,” he choked out.

“Dandelion, don’t get him started on his damn enchantress. He’ll just get weepy.” Zoltan looked amused and disgusted. “He won’t even visit the Passiflora with me, not even for old-times sake. Not even for the new elven wench. Not even to see his painting!”

“Ah, the famous  _ Equestrian _ . I must say, Geralt, when I heard about that painting I was a bit taken aback.” Dandelion laughed and clapped Geralt on the shoulder. “Come on, drinks on The Chameleon tonight.”

At that, they made their way to the bar. To avoid the mockery of Zoltan, Geralt ordered a plain vodka. It burned as it went down, reminding him of all his nights on the Path. It wasn’t a life he cared to repeat, but he found himself grateful for it. Without the hardship and loneliness that filled those days, he would never have appreciated the sense of calm he had now.  _ “Perhaps that’s all life really is, learning to push through the misery in order to appreciate the bliss,” _ he thought. _ “Although I could have done that without the damn zuegl….” _ He ordered another round, and when it was poured, he lifted his glass. “To old friends, those we lost and those we still have.” The three men drank, a lifetime’s worth of memories flooding them at once. They drank to Milva, to Cahir, to Angoulême, to Yarpen and Regis, wherever they may currently be, to Ciri in Nilfgaard. They drank to love and family. They toasted the past, thankful for its lessons, and they toasted the future, excited about its possibility.

After the fifth round, Geralt quickly began to realize his tolerance for hard liquor had lessened somewhat substantially since his retirement in Toussaint. The last time he overindulged at this rate, he ended up wearing Yennefer’s clothes and making prank calls on her megascope with Eskel and Lambert. He most definitely did not want to relive that moment. He decided to slow down. “So, what the hell is this painting you keep telling me about?  _ The Equestrian _ ? Some knight on a horse or something? Why would I care to see that?”

“Some knight on a horse? Funny, Geralt. Real clever.” Dandelion was pretending to strum a lute.

“Why Geralt, you should be proud of your masterpiece. I didn’t know you were so open to modeling in the nude, but let me tell you, plenty of the ladies and a few of the men are more than appreciative over at the Passiflora. Actually, all the ladies and all the men, since rubbing your, um… your cock, well it gives you a witcher’s stamina and all. I’m not embarrassed to say I did that, eyes firmly closed mind you, before my first night with the elven wench. I was nervous and she, well, she’s so damn beautiful. Oh beautiful Laena with the golden hair...”

Geralt felt the pleasant haziness he had been experiencing start to drain his body as a sense of dread creeped in to take its place. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Geralt interrupted Zoltan’s musings, his voice sounding more strained than he intended. 

“Your painting, man. Fuck Geralt, it’s a painting of you after all. You don’t remember posing nude on horseback? Over a dead griffin? How is that even possible? Oh wait, amnesia again?” Dandelion and Zoltan laughed at that.

Geralt stood quickly. All the good humor he had been swimming in just moments ago was gone. He was completely sober and utterly furious. “Passiflora, NOW.”


	2. The Miniature Magic Cock

It was worse than anything Geralt could possibly imagine, and his mind had imagined quite a few miseries on his frantic run to the Passiflora. Zoltan was more than happy to tag along; the drunk dwarf was practically skipping as he ran alongside the witcher, muttering about the golden locks and perky tits of Laena. Dandelion was a bit less obliging, grumbling the last place Priscilla needed to hear about him running off to at midnight after too many rounds was the Passiflora, but curiosity had gotten the better of the bard and he joined the duo on their dash through the Novigrad streets. 

“Perhaps there’s a ballad here?” Dandelion huffed. “The Witcher and the Magic Cock? Might go well with The Two Tits ballad I keep meaning to write…” his voice trailed off as Geralt glowered at him.

“Shut up, Dandelion. Not another word.” Geralt was in no mood for jests. 

As they turned the corner in the dark alley, the soft-red lights of the Passiflora appeared before them. Geralt knew them well. Not only had the whorehouse served as a meeting ground for regicide and high-stakes Gwent tournaments, but as a personal comfort for many a decade to ease long and lonely nights on the Path. It had been a long time since he used the bordello for its intended purpose, however, and for that he was grateful. 

And so the three men found themselves standing in front of  _ The Equestrian _ , an eerie silence surrounding them that seemed to block out the rapturous laughter that came from the other rooms. There was Geralt, in all his glory. “That fucking painter,” Geralt finally broke the oppressive quiet. 

The last time Geralt had seen the painting, he’d been so annoyed the painter not only painted him nude but had the gall to ask for $1000 crowns for the damn thing, he left in a rage, vowing to let all future painters meet their terrible and deserved ends. He, therefore, never bothered to get a good look at the piece, but he was certain that it did not include his rigid cock extending up his stomach. White horse rearing, glinting sword held high above his head, dead griffin at its feet, and proud cock straining towards the sun, it was the most humiliating piece of artwork Geralt had ever seen. 

“Sweet Melitele, Geralt, you actually posed for this? I didn’t realize it was so, well, explicit.” Dandelion, usually the more cultured of the three, was truly shocked at the exposition in front of him. Zoltan merely laughed, eyes darting to courtesans passing by.

“Pay him no heed, Geralt. It takes a brave man to appreciate true art. You should be proud and stand tall, just like that cock of yours is doing there.” Zoltan clapped his shoulder. 

“Of course I fucking didn’t pose like this. I mean, I  _ did _ pose for the painting, but I was FULLY clothed when I did. I just sat on his damn horse and held up a sword. Then a griffin attacked as apparently the spot that idiot painter chose also happened to be a griffin hunting ground, so I killed it and saved the fucker’s life. And how does the painter repay me? I should have left him to be torn apart.”

“So, he painted you naked from, from some other moment?” Dandelion was dancing around the question.

“You mean did I show him my cock at any point? NO, Dandelion, I already told you. I was FULLY CLOTHED, dammit! It was a fucking contract. I have no idea why he painted me naked as I most definitely was not! I don’t even remember seeing my dick in there when he showed it to me in Beauclair. It’s like he added it in later. Why the fuck would he do that?”

As if on cue, one of the ladies of the Passiflora, a slim redhead, joined them, holding hands with a pot-bellied man who looked to be in his forties, perhaps older.

“Now, now, my love, you shan’t need to worry about that little problem you mentioned earlier. I have just the fix," she said to the man. At that, she took his hand and extended his finger to the painting. Placing it firmly on Geralt’s painted cock, she rubbed it gently on the canvas. “Didn’t you know that rubbing the hard phallus of a witcher brings you a witcher’s bedroom prowess? I can attest, there's nothing quite like it.” She reached down with her other hand and started massaging the bulge in the patron’s trousers. “See, love, it’s already working.” She pulled him away and led him to one of the rooms upstairs. 

Geralt and Dandelion stared wide-eyed and in silence after the spectacle they had just seen. Zoltan, however, responded like the old hand that he was. “See, I told you, it's a miniature magic cock.”

“What the fuck am I going to do?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Geralt, it doesn't pay to be cheap!


End file.
